Stories Lost in Time
by starlight.moon.princess
Summary: There are many truths that have become legends, and many stories that have been lost in mists of London. Only, the time has come for one of those lost stories to return to reality :: Sherlock, John, and the city they love


London is no longer the city it once was, when the world was ruled by people who walked its streets and conferred in its buildings. All that remains of the London that was is the memory of power and greatness, of legends who once walked the streets.

There are many, so many of London's greatest residents who have passed into myth. It's greatest king and wizard – for all that they were Britain's, they were London's before that – are dismissed as figments of Geoffrey's imagination, and the stories of the Ravens of the Tower and Spring-heeled Jack are nothing but tales passed down to children.

And the two of them – in many ways, the greatest of London's inhabitants, past, present and future, for they were only mortal men but helped save London all the same – their lot has fallen even lower. The detective and the doctor are remembered in no songs or legends, and the stories of the doctor have vanished into the mists of time.

London mourns them, like a mother mourning her children. It has kept as many of its people alive in fantasies as it can – but each one that slips through kills a little part of it.

London in made up of the stories of a million people, and as one story after another fails, so does the city slowly decay.

And as the days and years turn, London waits. London remembers the promises that are whispered to it by all those that belong to it, no matter where they are uttered. And it does not forget that like the mythical king it once called its own, it's mortals promised to return.

John Watson arrives first. He is not yet the man his city remembers, but the potential is there, waiting to be unlocked. He loves London as fiercely as he did before, unable to ever imagine another place to live in.

With his first flirtation with the city, John Watson loses his heart, and London hides it in the nicks in the streets that he once traversed, keeping it safe until he finally returns.

Sherlock Holmes is both detective and not, his sharp wit marking him different from every other inhabitant of the city. Sherlock – London's first Sherlock – hadn't cared, needing only cases and John, and drugs when the cases weren't enough. This one, for all that he has the same soul, is different.

London safeguards his cries the way it does John Watson's heart, keeping him sane until the time comes for him to meet his match. It does its best to gather the man in its arms, sending its homeless to help him and keep him safe.

The only reason Sherlock Holmes does not spiral to his death under the influence of cocaine and heroin is because his city has not forgotten the service he gave it.

London has waited for a hundred years. A few more are no trouble.

In the meantime, London watches as storm clouds gather. The detective and the doctor are not the only legends who walk the streets once more. Their coming heralds the return of old friends – and enemies.

London is Old, and it is all it can do to make sure that it doesn't implode before its detective and doctor return. The mastermind is stronger this time around – he has started building his empire before he encounters his greatest rival, and it is already stronger than it once was.

But those are the perils that Change brings, and London accepts them like it always has.

And as the years pass, it waits. And, as ever, it plans.

The detective becomes the detective once more – or, at least, the shadow of the greatest detective to ever live, for the doctor is not yet home – and the doctor lives. London would know if he didn't, no matter how far away he is.

It plays its streets and inhabitants like the detective once played his violin, and makes certain that the home is open once more. London takes care of its heroes – a century may have passed, but there is no street that will welcome them like Baker Street. It remembers just as vividly as London does.

The detective comes, as London knew he would. There is only one thing left to do.

The doctor returns without fanfare. There is no one to spare a second glance to an injured soldier returning home. He spends a month away from the street that loves him best, sinking deeper and deeper into despair-

Until London's plans come to fruition.

Manipulating the other one into being at the park the same time as the doctor is takes barely anything. The rest – the rest the two of them do themselves.

As the doctor is brought to the detective, London allows itself to breathe a sigh of relief. It has done its part – everything is now in the hands of the doctor and the detective.

As London sinks backs into the stones of its streets, it knows it has nothing to worry about. Its greatest citizens have never - will never - let it down.

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><p><strong>AN: This one's heavily inspired by the multitude of 'x character is the spirit of London/Britain/what-have-you' prompts floating around on the kink meme.  
>The reason ACD doesn't exist in this universe is that it would be rather awkward for Sherlock and all to read stories about what was basically them, only a hundred years ago :P<br>**

**Anyhow. I hope you guys liked this! As always, please don't forget to drop a review on your way out :)**


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